


the little things give you away

by kissteethstainred



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, I'm Not Sure How to Explain This, M/M, Or tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ian first sees them, he thinks they’re twins. They both have similar looks, with pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes. They act similar too—both of them are quiet, they fidget in the same way, and they make some of the same facial expressions. </p><p>Ian wants to know them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea where this fic came from or why it came to me or why I wrote it, but here it is. This fic may not make sense at first, and it may be confusing, but it will make sense by the end (if not earlier). 
> 
> I have a very bad habit of posting fics at midnight-2 a.m. 
> 
> If you're up for it, come talk to me: carlgallahgrs.tumblr.com. If not, kudos, comments, etc, are absolutely lovely and welcomed! 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own.

When Ian first sees them, he thinks they’re twins. They both have similar looks, with pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes. They act similar too—both of them are quiet, they fidget in the same way, and they make some of the same facial expressions.

They’re not twins, however. The girl is introduced into his class, nods her head when the teacher introduces her and smiles a little, looking bored. Her brother is in Lip’s grade, only a year above Ian. Ian finds out when Lip tells him when he gets home.

Something about them draws Ian to them. They’re intriguing to him. They don’t make any other friends. The girl in his class answers when called upon, turns in her stuff on time, and cooperates with everyone in group projects to the point where you can’t say she’s not participating. But she always goes to her brother at lunch, and they sit quietly together and the end of the table, eating and talking.

Ian wants to know them.

\--

He doesn’t really have a chance to talk to them. The girl is in two of his classes, English and History, but she doesn’t sit really close to him. Ian feels weird if he just went up and talked to her. She looks a little intimidating, if not badass—she wears dark jeans most days and always has some type of band t-shirt or shirt that looks cool. Her quietness kinda adds to it.

Ian doesn’t see her brother at all, really. Except for one time. Ian is visiting Lip at his locker, and he sees the guy about ten lockers down. Ian notices that he has tattoos on his finger, which he hadn’t seen before. While Ian is trying to decipher what they say—the guy keeps moving his hands too much—the guy turns and notices Ian watching him. For a moment, they’re just staring, and Ian feels hot, embarrassed at being caught, but then the guy just raises his eyebrows and turns away.

\--

When they have a class project in English, Ian takes the opportunity and walks over to the girl. “Hey,” he says, and she looks at him in surprise. “Want to be my partner?”

“Sure,” she says, sounding unsure, and he drags a desk from the next row over so that it faces hers. She has a piercing in her nose, and it looks good on her. He likes the way her bangs look when she has her hair pulled up, like she has it right now, but she also looks good with it down. Her eyes look bluer straight on, especially with her pale skin and dark hair.

“Emily, right?” he says. She nods, biting her lip. “Well, let’s get this party started.”

As it turns out, she’s not just a quiet girl. When their English teacher announces something about the project, Emily mutters a dirty joke under her breath, and Ian has to put a hand over his mouth to stop laughing. She eyes him appreciatively, smiling at him. After that, it’s like they have an instant connection. She opens up more, talking more than he’s ever heard her before, and she is much funnier (and dirtier) than he would’ve thought.

“I hope this isn’t—weird,” Ian says, “but would you mind if I sat with you at lunch?”

Emily eyes him, twirling her pencil. She smiles. “I don’t think I’d mind at all.”

\--

The first thing her brother says is, “The fuck is he doing here?”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Obviously he’s sitting with us. Be nice.”

“I’m Ian,” Ian says, nodding at the guy as he sits down.

The guy pauses for a second, staring at Ian. “I’m Jordan,” he says, glancing at Emily. They share a long look that Ian doesn’t understand, but it gives him time to read Jordan’s hands. It says _fuck u-up_. Ian presses his lips together to stop himself from grinning too much. “So,” Jordan says, returning to Ian, “you gonna be a regular thing now, or what?”

“I don’t know,” Ian replies, feeling like Jordan’s trying to intimidate him. “I’m just . . . being friendly for now.”

Jordan snorts, and Emily hits him on the arm. “Ignore him,” she tells Ian. “He’s just an asshole and doesn’t stop. It’s like a curse.”

“Don’t worry. My brother, Lip, is perpetually an asshole, so I’m used to it,” Ian says.

“ _That’s_ your brother?” Jordan shakes his head. “This is gonna be a fucking nightmare.”

If Ian thought Emily opened up with him, it’s really different seeing her with her brother. They really do act alike, but they also open each other up. They tease each other, punching each other on the arms, and it reminds Ian of him and Lip. Ian finds that he likes the both of them a lot. They have a sharp wit, and sarcastic personalities, and Ian enjoys their dynamic.

\--

Ian goes over to their house two days later to start the project with Emily. They live in a two-story house, even though the second floor only has three rooms, and it’s very empty. “Still moving in,” Emily says as she notices Ian looking around the very sparse living room. “We have a ton of shit in boxes somewhere.”

Ian meets their dad, too, and is kinda shocked by his look. He’s tall and blonde, very built, with a face that would be attractive if it weren’t so stern. He has a posture that’s so straight it reminds Ian of his ROTC practices. “Ian,” he says, and he sounds friendly but doesn’t smile. “I’m Andrew. It’s nice to meet a friend.” He gives Emily and Jordan a long look afterwards, one that Ian can’t interpret.

Emily and Ian focus on the project for an hour or so, getting more done than they’d thought, before giving up and goofing around. They find Jordan in his room, playing video games, and Emily plops herself down on the bed next to him and says, “Make it two player, douchebag, because I’m about to whoop your ass.”

She does.

\--

“So, you _are_ becoming a regular thing?” Jordan asks when he sits down at the lunch table. Ian and Emily stop their conversation to look at him.

“Yes,” Ian says. “Got a problem with that?”

Jordan rolls his eyes and says, “Whatever, man,” and Emily grins at them behind her soda can and continues to talk about her math teacher.

Jordan catches Ian’s eyes, though, and Ian’s holds his gaze for what feels like a long time. They seem to do that a lot, having longer-than-normal eye contact.

Ian wonders if Jordan feels the same heat at the pit of his stomach when their eyes meet.

\--

“Why are you hanging around the Henderson’s so much?” Lip asks, lighting a smoke near the window.

“Emily’s my best friend,” Ian says. “I like them.”  

Lip gives him an offended look. “I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are, fuck.” Ian gives Lip a pointed look. “Anyways, who was it who said Karen Jackson was his best friend a week ago?”

Lip laughs. “Yeah, but I’m fucking her too. You fucking the girl, Emily?”

Ian shakes his head no and tries not to think about dark hair and _fuck u-up_ tattoos.

\--

Ian feels as comfortable in Emily and Jordan’s house as he does his own. It’s weird, but he’s felt like they were just perfect for him, like something with them just connected.

As he’s wandering their house, he notices that they don’t really have any baby pictures of them. Ian frowns, looks through a couple more rooms, but he doesn’t find any. Nor has the house changed much in the past couple of weeks. Emily said they had more stuff in boxes, but the house generally looks the same. Not much furniture or knick-knacks or pictures. It feels like they have the bare necessities.

Ian walks into their dad’s office. It doesn’t have any pictures in it either, which Ian finds really weird. Fiona has thousands of pictures of the family up, and if they can’t find any, then strange things—pictures Carl drew, or a poem Debbie wrote for class, or an essay Ian got an A on. But their dad has nothing.

When he walks around the desk, he notices something underneath it. When Ian bends down, he straightens in surprise. It’s a fucking gun.

When he meets back with Emily in her room, Ian says, “What is it your dad does again?”

Emily freezes and stares at Ian for a couple of seconds. Then she says, “He’s an accountant. Stays at home and works.” Ian nods, trying to think, and thinks that surely there are enough reasons in the world to keep a gun.

It’s still weird.

\--

Ian overhears a conversation between Jordan and Emily one day.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Jordan is whispering fiercely. Ian leans against the wall and tries to be as quiet as possible. “Ian hanging around—”

“Why?” Emily whispers back just as harshly. “Where did it say that we couldn’t have friends? Why the fuck can’t we?”

“It’s dangerous, Mands, you know that, fuck, it’s just—” He breaks off. “I know this is hard, but fuck, we have to consider that it’s not a good idea.”

Ian frowns, trying to figure out what a “Mands” is and how it relates to Emily. And why is Ian dangerous? He hasn’t done anything to harm them.

“I don’t care,” Emily whispers. “I don’t. Ian’s my best friend, and I’m not just gonna give that up because some high authority says we have to be lonely for the rest of our goddamned lives.”

Ian walks back in when it’s clear their conversation is over, and they both smile at him, faces tense, and Ian mulls over their words all day but can’t figure it out.

\--

Karen Jackson is hosting a party at her house and it feels like everyone is there.

Emily looks really great, hair straight and in a sparkly blue dress that looks amazing on her. She laughs into Ian’s shoulder on the way into the house, flipping Jordan off whenever he grumbles behind them, and she immediately says, “Shots!” when they get into the house. Jordan rolls his eyes but doesn’t resist that much, downing the shot when Ian and Emily do. “See, have fun!” Emily screams at her brother, and then she pulls Ian out to where a bunch of kids are dancing.

She and him dance for a while, laughing and occasionally letting other people around them join in their dancing, but mostly it’s just them. Emily’s fun and doesn’t really care if she looks bad dancing—even though she doesn’t look bad dancing—and she likes to pull Ian close when they dance together. It’s a bit hot, and Ian’s sweaty, but it’s fun and Ian’s having a great time.

At some point, Ian looks up around the room and notices Jordan leaning against a wall in the corner of the room. He has a beer in one hand and he’s—he’s watching Ian.

Ian feels hot for an entirely different reason.

After that, he’s painfully aware that Jordan’s watching him. And Ian can claim that maybe Jordan is watching his sister, but then Ian turns to him once, and their eyes catch, and Jordan raises the beer to him with a smirk on his face.

Emily pulls Ian close and yells in his ear that she’s going to go find some of her girlfriends, and Ian nods, watching her as she weaves her way to the kitchen. Ian can feel his heart pounding, and then he goes to Jordan.

“Hey,” Ian says, and he takes the can from Jordan’s hand, the one that says fuck. Ian laughs at the annoyed look Jordan gives him as he downs the rest of his beer. “You wanna dance with me?” Ian asks, feeling a bit more forward than he usually would. He hands the beer back.

Jordan snorts when he feels that the can is empty and places it on the table. “Definitely not.”

“Then why were you watching me?”

The smile on Jordan’s face turns into a smirk. “Was I?”

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Ian asks, stepping closer until he pushes Jordan against the wall and kisses him.

Jordan makes a surprised, muffled noise against Ian’s mouth, and then he’s gripping Ian tight around the hips and pulling him closer, kissing Ian back with so much force Ian gets a little dizzy. “Oh fuck,” Ian says when the pull away for a moment, and Jordan’s laughing at him, running his hands up Ian’s sides and pulling Ian back in. He’s fantastic at kissing, Ian thinks. His mouth is strong and firm, making his kisses consuming. “Was I right?” Ian gasps, and Jordan moves his mouth from Ian’s mouth to Ian’s jawline, and Ian clutches at his shoulders harder. “Was I—”

“Shut up, shut up,” he mutters along Ian’s jaw, and Ian slumps against him when Jordan sucks on a fucking spot on his neck that is apparently a _thing_. Like, a _hot as fuck_ thing.

Ian is impatient, though, pulling at Jordan’s clothing until their mouths meet again. And god, it’s so fucking good, and it only gets better, Jordan’s tongue sweeping into Ian’s mouth and Ian—Ian moans into it, realizes they’re basically grinding up against a wall in a room full of people but Ian doesn’t care, and nobody is really surprised by teenagers kissing against a wall at a party anyways.

Emily finds them around two, drunk and laughing and glitter all over her face. “Someone had a good time,” she exclaims, touching a spot on Ian’s neck. Ian assumes it’s a hickey and shoots Jordan a look, but Jordan is conveniently talking to Emily at that point and only glances at Ian from the corner of his eye.

Ian doesn’t fall asleep easily that night. He stumbles into his room, pulling off clothes that smell of weed and alcohol, and falls into his bed. He can’t fall asleep though, too busy touching the spot on his neck and thinking about how red Jordan’s mouth looked after hours of kissing.

\--

Ian doesn’t tell Emily. Mostly because he doesn’t even know what to say—how does he even begin something like that?—but mostly because he’s not even sure Emily knows that Jordan’s gay. He assumes she does, because the siblings are really close, but how can Ian know for sure? He doesn’t want to just blurt it out and ruin everything.

Ian feels compromised, too. Emily is his best friend, but Jordan—there’s so much there. Ian likes him a lot, likes him in a way that’s turning from exciting to big, confusing, encompassing. And he likes the trio dynamic they have, and he’s worried that his relationship (is it even that?) might ruin that.

He’s considering just telling her on a Saturday night when he’s sleeping over. When he stays the night at their house, he always sleeps in Emily’s room. Her father doesn’t seem to care or worry about there being sex (maybe he knows, Ian thinks), and he doesn’t have anything to worry about. Ian and Emily just curl up in her bed, legs tangled, and talk until it’s one in the morning.

“Can I ask a favor?” Emily whispers one night. Her fingers trace the bones of Ian’s hand. Ian finds it really soothing.

“Sure,” Ian says sleepily.

“Can you call me Em?” she asks. When Ian looks at her, she says, “I’ve, um, I’ve always hated the name Emily. But Em—Em, I’m good with. It’s close enough.” Ian doesn’t ask what it’s close enough to. He’s a bit too tired for that.

“Of course,” he whispers. “Em.”

\--

They disappear for a week.

Em doesn’t come into his classes, and no one is there at lunch. Ian sits at his old table with Lip and Karen Jackson and their group, but watches the other table out of the corner of his eye. He texts Em first, asking her if she and Jordan are okay, but she doesn’t answer. He texts Jordan the same thing and gets the same response. He’s confused as fuck. When he goes to their house and knocks on the door, no one answers. They don’t have a home phone or any type of social website or email, only their phones. Which they aren’t answering. The house is dark, no lights on.

Em walks into school on Tuesday, and when Ian asks her about it, she just dismisses it with a quick, “Family business.”

When Ian asks Jordan, he says, “Personal shit,” in such a brusque manner that Ian knows he means _don’t ask me this shit, Gallagher_.

Ian presses anyways. “You were gone for a week.”

“Stellar observation,” Jordan says. “You done?”

Ian isn’t done. He wants to say that they can trust him, that he’s there for them. He wants them to open up to him because he’s their friend. He wants to ask Jordan about what happened at the party.

Ian doesn’t, just nods his head and follows Jordan out of the school.

\--

Ian knocks on their door, shifting on his feet. He’s still confused about them missing a week, and hurt by their lack of communication with him, but he misses them and wants to hang out.

Jordan opens the door, gripping the door tightly when he sees Ian.

“Um,” Ian says, very eloquently, and then, “Is Em home?”

“No, she’s out with some of her girlfriends,” Jordan says, tilting his head. Ian can just make out the _fuck_ on his hand that’s clutching the door.

“Oh.” Ian shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “I’ll just go then.”

“Wait,” Jordan says softly. Ian looks at him, swallowing hard when he sees that look in his eyes. “You should stay.”

“Oh,” Ian says again, and follows Jordan into the house. And then, “ _Oh_ , fuck,” as Jordan sucks his cock on his bed, hands gripping Ian’s hips tightly. Jordan’s mouth is hot and wet, and fucking perfect, and he sucks Ian’s cock like he’s been doing it his entire life. Ian wants to fuck his mouth, but he can’t, Jordan’s hands are holding his hips down, and Ian looks at the way Jordan’s lips are stretched around his cock and starts coming.

Jordan doesn’t fucking waste time—he starts pulling of his own pants, shirt already divested in the minutes they’d been making out, and then his boxers too, and Ian’s pretty sure he’s in a fucking dream or something. And then Jordan flips them over so Ian’s on top, hands gripping Ian’s biceps, and he’s pushing the condom and lube in Ian’s hand.

“Get on me,” he says, and it only takes a second for Ian to realize what he means.

This is fucking fantastic.

\--

Ian notices the gun again, only this time it’s on the dad’s desk instead of under it. The dad is typing away at the computer as Em talks to him about a parents night coming up. Ian knows his own dad won’t come, because Frank is a piece of shit, but he does know that he’ll see the entire Gallagher clan walking around Ian and Lip’s rooms to see how they’re doing. It makes him smile a little.

“That’s a nice gun,” Ian says. “Where’d you get it?”

Em’s dad turns to him, giving Ian a very blank look. Em has become quiet. “I’m sorry?” her dad says. Ian feels his heart pounding, and he doesn’t call their dad “Andrew” to his face no matter how many times he says to because of this, this intimidation.

“The gun,” Ian says. Then he babbles, something he knows will make him seem more innocent. “It’s just, I’m in ROTC, and we’ve been going over guns lately—well, I’ve always had an interest in guns, really—so I was just wondering where you got it? It’s in very good condition too, how often do you clean it?”

“I don’t use it,” Andrew says, smiling politely. Ian thinks Andrew is only humoring him. Ian also thinks he wants to punch Ian in the face.

“Why d’you have it then?” Ian asks. A flicker of annoyance crosses Andrew’s face, and Em shifts uncomfortably, and Ian should really know when to not push.

“It’s a gift from my father,” her dad says after a moment. “So I know how to use it, I just don’t use it.”

“That’s really cool,” Ian says, lying out of his fucking mouth. “I wish my dad have given me a gun, it probably would have saved on ROTC fees.”

Andrew agrees, and Em begins talking about the parents night, but Ian watches Andrew carefully, trying to figure out what’s wrong with the entire picture.

Because Ian knows that, at least. Something is very wrong.

\--

“Is this going to be a regular thing?” Ian gasps. Jordan’s hands are washing over Ian’s chest and stomach, Ian’s shirt thrown somewhere on the other side of the room.

“You want me to stop?” Jordan asks, and Ian glares at him as he undoes Jordan’s belt.

When Ian sinks to his knees, well, neither of them want to stop.

(Ian likes to leave bruises on Jordan’s hips, and Jordan likes to suck bruises on Ian’s collarbones. It’s a pretty fair trade.)

\--

Em stays over at the Gallagher house one night, mostly because she hadn’t before. Fiona smiles at her and welcomes her to the table. Em’s eyes skitter over everything in the house, and she whispers in Ian’s ear, “Everything is so _different_.”

She’s right, though. Her house is very neat and almost empty, with as little furniture or unnecessary objects as possible, while the Gallagher house is almost exploding with unnecessary things. And their house is relatively quiet, not counting her and Jordan’s arguments, while the Gallagher house is bursting with noise almost the minute they walk in.

She likes all of them immediately, he can tell, but he also notices something sad and wistful in her eyes. Ian decides not to ask about it, and instead pulls her by the hand over to the couch, where everyone is eating pasta and watching a _Dance Moms_ marathon.

Later, when they’re curled up in Ian’s bed, Em whispers into his neck, “You’re so lucky, Ian. You’re just so fucking lucky.”

Ian shifts a bit, tightens his arm around her waist. He wants to ask her which part she’s thinking of, but decides against it. “I know,” he says instead.

\--

“We should go on a date,” Ian says as casually as possible, not taking his eyes of his homework.

Jordan makes a sound like a hiss. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“We should go on a date,” Ian repeats, looking up at Jordan this time. He doesn’t look particularly angry or upset, just—strange, confused. “I mean, unless you want to go date someone else?”

“Fuck you,” Jordan says casually. Ian grins at him, because he totally just caught him, and Jordan curses and says, “And no, that doesn’t mean I want to date you, fuck.”

“Is Friday good?” Ian asks.

“We’re _not_ dating.”

“Is eight alright with you?”

“ _Ian._ ”

And yet, here they are, Friday night, spending time walking around the downtown area, where they host a street fair on Friday nights. They walk down the street, passing by the little shops they’ve set up in the middle of the street. They have clothes shops, tents with racks of clothes underneath, some tiny candle shops, jewelry shops, all lines up in rows with people looking at them. They don’t buy anything, as they spent most of their money on the food they’d gotten, but there are a bunch of families and kids laughing, some lights strung up in the trees, and when Ian takes Jordan’s hand, he doesn’t pull away.

They ditch the street fair when Ian pulls Jordan into a little alley nearby and kisses him, pushing him against the wall because Ian knows by now what Jordan likes. Jordan laughs a little, voice rough, and says, “That all you got?” in a such a taunting voice that it almost makes Ian mad.

That is, it would have, if he wasn’t too busy kissing Jordan.

\--

Ian watches their dad warily. There’s something weird about him and Ian wants to find out. Ian kinda figures it out one day: Andrew doesn’t treat his children like they’re his children. He almost speaks to them in the way Ian’s commander at ROTC does. Nothing feels like a father/child relationship with any of them. And he doesn’t look like them either, not too much. Ian considers the mother having dominant genes but—really? So dominant it took to both children to look so similarly? It’s probable, Ian guesses, but surely not that much?

Their dad calls Ian one day, into his study, while Em and Jordan are in the kitchen waiting for the pizza rolls to stop cooking.

“Do you need me?” Ian asks, feeling like he should be saluting or something.

Andrew eyes him for a couple of moments before saying quietly, but commanding, “Watch over those kids, Ian. They’re very special.”

Ian just nods, too stunned to think of anything in response. He wanders back into the kitchen, where Em and Jordan are arguing over which Guitar Hero was better, and Ian still can’t make sense of any of it.

\--

“Tell me a secret,” Ian says.

Jordan bites his lip and shakes his head. “Can’t.”

Ian frowns at that, then shivers when Jordan’s hand brushes over his lower back. Right now, he’s naked in Jordan’s bed, tangled together, and Ian knows that when Em comes back home that he’s going to be crawling out of Jordan’s bed and sleeping in hers for the night. But for the moment, he pretends that this is what’s allowed to happen, that Ian will be able to press his face into the warm curve of Jordan’s neck and just fall asleep. “Why not?” Ian asks. 

“Because, if I tell you one secret, you’ll ask more about it,” Jordan whispers. His fingers are tracing the knobs of Ian’s spine now, slowly, one at a time. “And then you’ll want to know more secrets, then everything will come spilling out, and that . . . is bad.”

“Then just tell me something about you,” Ian says. “Anything.”

“I love my sister more than anything in this world,” he says, and Ian laughs.

“I know that. Something else,” he demands, and Jordan rolls his eyes, fingers moving to Ian’s sides. Ian shivers again, this time because he’s slightly ticklish.

“Hmm.” Jordan shifts his legs a little so that his and Ian’s slide together. “Alright. When I was eight years old, I told my mother that I wanted to marry this boy in my class. When she asked me why, I said it was because of his awesome Superman costume. So she asked me why I wanted to marry some kid because of his Superman costume. I told her that I wanted a Superman costume, and I knew that when you’re married you share everything. And she just laughed at me, pushed my hair back from my forehead, and said that I was allowed to marry whoever I wanted, but I should be very, very careful with boys. ‘They’re heartbreakers,’ she said.” Jordan’s thumb sweeps across one of Ian’s ribs. Ian wants to press so, so close. “I find that she’s right.”

Ian moves his hand, presses his thumb to the corner of Jordan’s mouth. His eyes look so much darker at night, so Ian can’t really read his expression, but Jordan exhales shakily before moving forward.

Ian meets him halfway.

\--

They disappear again. 10 days.

Ian doesn’t understand, and he leaves about ten messages to both of their phones before he realizes what’s happened. Then he shuts his phone and stops calling immediately, wondering how long it’s gonna be this time.

When they return, he’s angry, just a little, and when they don’t tell him what happened, he gets pissed.

“Oh, is it personal?” Ian exclaims. “Family business, right?”

Em clenches her jaw, looking away from him. Jordan says angrily, “ _Fuck_ you, Ian,” like this is Ian’s fault, like Ian caused this.

Ian walks home by himself.

\--

Em comes to him the next day, sits down on his bed and doesn’t say anything.

“You guys don’t tell me much,” Ian says finally. “You guys are my best fucking friends, and you don’t tell me anything.”

“It’s complicated,” is all she says in reply. Ian snorts, says, “Right,” and returns to doing his math homework. “It is,” Em insists. “It’s so much more complicated than you could ever know.”

“Complicated like the way your dad is so fucking strange? He doesn’t even seem like your dad,” Ian blurts out, feeling hurt. Em stares at him, wide-eyed with disbelief, and then turns away from him. Ian knew he wasn’t going to get an answer for that, so he doesn’t know why he even bothered. “What about your mother? Why does no one talk about her?”

Em stiffens at that, and he knows he hit a tough spot. “Fine,” Em snaps. “My mother was bad when she wasn’t drunk or high and was shitty when she was. She overdosed when I was eleven, and M—my brother was twelve. There was a funeral. I was too dumbstruck to cry. Jordan didn’t cry because—because someone told him that crying was for pussies. And I cried a month later when I finally realized that my mother wasn’t coming home for good. Are you happy now?”

Ian closes his eyes, wishing he’d never opened his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, opening his eyes. Em looks at him, mouth pressed into an angry line and blue eyes hard as ice. He pushes his work to the side and opens his arms. She climbs into them, wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly.

\--

Ian and Jordan make up in an entirely different way.

It’s desperate, that’s for sure. Ian presses kisses to Jordan’s mouth before moving to his neck, his chest and his stomach, and Jordan’s breathless and needy by the time Ian gets the lube out. Ian pushes one finger in, and Jordan pleads with him, impatient and not even ashamed of begging, and Ian presses kisses to his hipbones and adds another finger and presses hard against his prostate. Jordan swears, hips raising off the bed, and Ian can’t take it, can’t take this feeling welling up in his chest at the sight of him.

They’re too young for this, Ian thinks, this overwhelming love. Jordan grips the sheets below them in his fingers when Ian pushes in, and it’s strangely erotic. “Move,” Jordan grunts, and Ian doesn’t go hard like Jordan usually likes it, but slow, dragging it out, rolling his hips slowly. Jordan cries out, scrabbling at Ian’s shoulders, says, “I hate you, I hate you, fuck, fu-u-ck,” and Ian can’t take it, kisses Jordan hard on the mouth while he pushes back in, and Jordan’s nails are digging hard into Ian’s arms.

Jordan begins to comply though, raising his hips at the right moment to meet Ian’s thrusts, and when he clenches down on Ian’s cock, Ian moans. “Fuck, Jordan, fuck—”

“Don’t call me that,” Jordan gasps, moaning when Ian hits his prostate again. “Please don’t—please, please don’t call me that, fuck, _Ian_.” And Ian doesn’t understand, but he nods anyways, presses his face into Jordan’s neck and bites at the curve of his shoulder and neck. Ian finally decides that going that slow is even too cruel on himself, so he pulls out and slams back into Jordan, hard, and Jordan’s moan is hoarse, and then he’s coming, clenching tight around Ian’s cock. Ian moans, and then two thrusts later, he’s coming too.

Jordan pulls away almost immediately, and Ian watches, confused, as Jordan sits at the edge of his bed. The moonlight makes him look even more pale, and Ian thinks that his shoulder blades look very fragile.

“Hey,” Ian says softly, touching the small of Jordan’s back softly. “Hey, you okay?”

Jordan sighs and nods, and Ian presses closer, moving so that he’s leaning on one arm right next to Jordan. Jordan’s clenching his fists on his thighs, and he’s biting his lip in that nervous way of his. “Hey,” Ian says again, and he tilts his head to press a kiss to Jordan’s shoulder. Some tensions leaves him at that, so Ian continues, mouthing a path of kisses along his shoulder to his neck. Jordan turns his head then, and Ian kisses him softly, mouth catching onto his bottom lip, and when Ian pulls away, Jordan’s hand stops him from getting too far, hand curled in Ian’s hair. “I want to tell you these things,” Jordan whispers. “But you have no idea how much I can’t. I just can’t. It kills me—it kills the both of us—but I just can’t.”

Ian kisses the corner of Jordan’s mouth and then noses along his cheekbone. “Come back to bed,” he whispers, taking Jordan’s hand. He rubs his fingers over the _u-up_. “Let’s get some sleep.” Jordan nods, moving to kiss Ian again, and then he draws the sheets over the both of them before pressing his face into the curve of Jordan’s neck.

\--

Ian ignores the strangeness hovering around them for a good amount of time. He smiles at their dad and plays dumb, tries to forget entirely about a gun under a desk and very bad lies. He doesn’t press into Jordan and Em’s life, just allows himself to be molded into the areas they allow him to be. He goes to school and does his homework and sits at their lunch table and wonders what day it will be when they disappear again, how long they’ll be gone.

Ian stays quiet.

\--

Ian fell in love with both of them.

He fell for Jordan, hard, that was for sure. There wasn’t a moment of doubt now. When Ian looked at him there was just—love, everywhere, all the time. He could be watching Jordan’s mouth or the back of his neck or his tattoos and Ian would just love him.

He fell for Em, too. He just felt so happy around her, her presence always making him feel better. They could be at the movies or laying in her bed or doing simply nothing at all and he’d still feel happy and secure.

He needs that love. He needs _them_.

\--

His commander at ROTC calls Ian over after his practice. Marquez is younger than most of Ian’s instructors, and also a bit kinder after practice, unlike all the other instructors.

“You weren’t on your usual A-game today, Gallagher,” he comments, sitting down at his desk and pulling out some papers. “Very distracted.”

It doesn’t sound like a criticism, just slightly concerned. “I know, sir,” Ian says. “Some things have been keeping me up.”

Marquez hums in agreement, taking out a pen and signing some of the papers. Ian stands there, wondering if he has any other need here, when Marquez pushes the papers to the side and asks, “Do you have any other questions, Ian? Something I can help you with?”

Ian opens his mouth to reject the offer, but it hits him, suddenly, that maybe Marquez is the perfect guy to ask. “Alright,” he says, licking his lips nervously. “Say there’s this family, and they’re kinda strange.” Marquez sits back, a hand on his chin. “The dad looks nothing like them and treats them kinda like little soldiers. And he says he’s an accountant but I’ve never seen him do work. He has a gun and claims he doesn’t use it, but he has a manner of someone who’s been in the army for a while. There’s two kids, and . . .” Ian doesn’t know where to start. “They disappear sometimes. A week, maybe more. They don’t talk about why they go. They don’t talk about much, really. And they’re quiet, heads down a lot, which is strange, because I know personally that they’re not like that.”

Marquez furrows his eyebrows, looking down at his desk. “They disappear, you say?”

“The entire family,” Ian says, “and I can’t reach them.”

“Hmm.” Marquez looks at the computer thoughtfully before looking at Ian, lacing his fingers together on the table. “Tell me something, Ian. Has there ever been name problems?”

“Name problems, sir?”

“Well, more like name confusion.” Ian must still look confused, because he says, “Say, for instance, a guy says his name is Ian. But when you call him Ian, he doesn’t respond to it that much. Or he has difficulty responding to it.”

“Well . . .” Nothing like that, Ian thinks. “The girl, she told me not to call her Emily, but to call her Em. She said she hated the name Emily, but Em was better. And the guy, he—” Ian cuts off, tries to sort through that night he and Jordan had sex. “He asked me not to call him by his name. Just once.” It had been a weird, desperate moment, though.

Marquez sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Only you, Ian, could get involved with something like this.”

Ian’s heart starts beating faster. “Like what, sir?”

“Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully . . .”

\--

Ian knocks on the window of Jordan’s room.

He opens up the window, giving Ian a bewildered look. “Ian, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need to see you,” Ian says. His head is swimming with everything Marquez said, and all the puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, Jordan stands aside. Ian climbs through the window into Jordan’s room, and once he’s in, he sits on Jordan’s bed, running his hands through his hair. “Okay,” Ian starts, and then shakes his head. “Fuck, I can’t do this.”

“Ian, are you on something?” Jordan demands, arms crossed against his chest.

“No, no I’m not,” Ian says, and he looks at Jordan and focuses on settling down. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to ask you something, and I would love it if you answered me, okay?”

“Alright,” Jordan says, eyeing Ian warily.

“Your name isn’t really Jordan, is it?” Ian asks, and Jordan freezes entirely. He stares at Ian, dumbfounded. “Is it?”

Jordan begins to pace the room, running his hands over his face. “No, it’s not,” he finally says, and his voice is hoarse.

Ian is very aware of the heartbeat at his throat. “That’s why, isn’t it? That’s why you disappear, and that’s why you guys don’t talk about your past much, and that’s why your dad is weird, because he’s not you dad, is he? He’s your protection.” Jordan—the guy—fuck—he watches Ian, not really confirming anything, so Ian just goes for it. “What happened? Why are you and Em in some sort of protection program?”

“I can’t answer that,” Jordan finally says at last, clenching his jaw.

Ian knows why he can’t answer it: because it’s true. Ian exhales slowly and puts his head in his hands. His mind is a fucking tornado right now, swirling violently. “I don’t care,” Ian says suddenly. “I don’t care what happened, I don’t care how you got here, I just—” Ian breaks off. “Anything, anything you can tell me, I want to know.”

They stare at each other for a while, and it isn’t Ian who breaks. Jordan runs a hand through his hair and then says, “Mickey.”

“What?” Ian asks.

“My name. It’s Mickey.” He clears his throat. “Mickey Milkovich.”

Ian stares at him, thinks _MickeyMickeyMickey_ , and it fits, in a way. Something transforms before his eyes, and he sees the difference in the person in front of him, the way something as simple as a name means a world of difference. “Mickey,” he repeats.

Mickey starts laughing. “I haven’t heard anyone call me that in such a long time.”

Ian starts laughing too. “That’s so fucking strange,” Ian comments. “I’m in love with you, and I didn’t even know your real name.”

Mickey stops laughing then. “You love me, huh?” Ian shrugs like it’s nothing, when he’s actually fucking terrified. “I must be doing something wrong,” Mickey says, “because I love you but I happen to know your real name—” and Ian is already up from the bed and crashing into Mickey’s arms. Ian kisses him, his nose and his cheeks and his mouth, again and again, and Mickey laughs and says, “I knew, from the moment Mandy brought you to the fucking table, that you were gonna ruin us, one way or another.”

Ian hums against Mickey’s mouth, pressing their bodies closer, before pulling back, confused. “Mandy?” he says. “Is that—” He gets it, suddenly. “When she wanted me to call her Em, it wasn’t because her name was short for Emily but because of the letter M. Oh my god.” He looks at Mickey then—Mickey Milkovich, holy fuck—and says, “We need to go see her.”

“What’s going on?” Em— _Mandy_ —says when they wake her, voice groggy with sleep. “Ian?”

Mickey sits at the end of her bed. “He knows, Mands,” he says in a low, excited voice.

“Knows?” Mandy asks, giving them a confused look.

“Mandy,” Ian says, laughing, and she looks at him, startled. Ian sees the transformation in her too, the way everything suddenly made sense. “Mandy Milkovich.”

“Holy shit, you told him?” she yells, smacking Mickey repeatedly on the arm.

“Don’t fucking hit me, he figured it out!” Mickey exclaims, rubbing the spot she’d hit on his arm.

They fall asleep tangled together, Ian’s arm around Mickey’s waist and Mandy’s face pressed into Ian’s neck and legs piled on top and between each other’s. They tell him about small stuff—where they used to grow up, how shitty their old school is, how they have a couple more siblings. Nothing too big, or too revealing. Ian asks them if they’re going to leave and they have no response. They don’t know. “This is going to be weird,” Ian says. “I have to call you Em and Jordan at school, but here . . .”

“It’s been weirder for us, trust me,” Mickey grumbles. Mickey’s holding Mandy’s hand over Ian’s stomach.

“Both of you, shut up and let me sleep,” Mandy says, and within ten minutes, all of them are.

\--

“Ian,” Andrew says, leaning against the door frame. Ian stops and looks at him, eyeing his build and thinking that he has to give Andrew credit for keeping them safe this entire time. “Remember what I said,” Andrew continues, “about watching over them, Ian.”

Ian nods, and then, just to show how much he understands, says, “Yes, sir.” Andrew looks shocked for a second, before the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile.

\--

“Emily Henderson?” It’s quiet in the classroom when there’s no answer. Ian’s English teacher repeats her name, and when she doesn’t answer, she marks Emily absent. “Mr. Gallagher,” his teacher says, “can you explain to me why Miss Henderson has been absent for almost two weeks now?”

Ian thinks of the phone calls and voicemails in his phone. He thinks of the two letters he received the day they’d gone. One, which was more than eight pages long, back and front, which explained a lot of things to Ian: a story about Terry Milkovich and his children, and how he would abuse them. Punches for the boys and strange touches for the girl. A story about the crime Terry Milkovich was drenched in, layers and layers of it, the mob boss of Chicago, and the danger he posed to his children. A story about them being pulled away from that horrible place and moving to an entirely new city only to meet a wonderful kid named Ian Gallagher. Ian read the letter and kept it safe, where Lip wouldn’t find it, and tucked it away into his heart, the place called Mandy Milkovich.

The other note was much shorter, only about three sentences: _We’ll be back in two days. I love you. Mickey_.

“No,” Ian says, giving what he hopes is a believable confused face. “I have no idea.”


	2. it was only a matter of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ian first sees them, his heart stops entirely. He stops at the top of the porch, stunned and confused, because the figures leaning against the tree look like—but it can’t be. It can’t be, but Ian’s heart is racing and he doesn’t know anybody else who looks like them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a monster this fic is (at least, for the amount of time I've spent writing it). I'd started this second chapter AGES ago after [Lily](http://romeanoff.tumblr.com) talked to me about how much she liked it, but literally only got to about 400 words. Then 2 or 3 days ago or something, [Ellie](http://mickeysupset.tumblr.com/) and [Kensie](http://unbrokengibberish.tumblr.com/), along with an anon on my tumblr, asked me about this fic, and it was literally like being struck by inspiration lightning. Holy shit. 
> 
> This chapter is longer than the first one I posted. Like, waaaay longer. I find it strange, but here you go. I wrote this in 3 days in a mad frenzy when I should be studying for AP tests, but who cares about that, right? 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos greatly appreciated :)))))
> 
> remember that thing I once said on one of my fics on having bad habits of posting my fics at 12-2 in the morning? yeah. it's 1:30 am. FUN.

When Ian sees Lip waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, tapping his foot and looking panicked, Ian says, “Yeah, I know, I know, I’m coming, okay? We’re not gonna be late.”

“That’s not it,” Lip says, and then, sighing, “I’m gonna be on time, but you’re going to be late.”

“What?” Ian asks, stopping on the last step. “Why?”

Lip nods towards the front door.

\--

When Ian first sees them, his heart stops entirely. He stops at the top of the porch, stunned and confused, because the figures leaning against the tree look like—but it can’t be. It can’t be, but Ian’s heart is racing and he doesn’t know anybody else who looks like them.

He’s facing away from Ian, back to the house as he talks to her, and when she sees Ian come out of the house, she stares at him. It’s this weird, surreal moment where he stops talking to her and turns around and then it’s literally just all of them staring at each other.

“Well?” he eventually says. His voice is impatient and demanding and exactly how Ian remembers it.

“Seriously?” Ian asks, like Mickey’s voice unfreezes his body. Ian walks down the stairs. “Two fucking days, Milkovich?”

Mandy laughs suddenly, almost like it burst out of her involuntarily. He looks at her and she’s healthy, skin clean and hair tied back in a ponytail and so beautiful. She has tears in her eyes.

“Who the fuck’re you calling Milkovich?” Mickey says, giving Ian a glance-over that is so familiar Ian could cry. He’s grinning, and he looks beautiful. Annoying, too, because he’s giving Ian that smile that says he knows he’s being annoying but is doing it anyways. “My last name is Henderson, _Gallagher_.”  

Mandy touches her fingers to Ian’s hands, hesitantly. “Walk us to school?” she asks.

\--

Their English teacher is stunned when Mandy walks into school, and guessing by the look on their classmate’s faces, so is everyone else. “It’s nice to have you back in school, Miss Henderson,” his teacher says, and Mandy smiles at her politely and sits down in a new spot, right next to Ian.

About ten minutes into class, she gives Ian a note that says: _Come over later?_

 _Of course_ , he says.

\--

“Seriously though. Two days? You were gone for almost a month. That is not even remotely _close_ to two days,” Ian says. He’s been complaining periodically throughout the day, because he doesn’t really know what to feel. He’s not angry, strangely enough, and he’s not confused, but he’s also very confused, and basically everything is a mess.

“God, will you ever shut up?” Mickey grumbles, and when Ian says, “No,” Mickey kicks him to the edge of the bed.

Ian just moves back over, laughs at Mickey’s sigh when Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist. Mickey hugs Ian back, and they pretend like they’re very nonchalant about it, but both of them are desperate for any type of touching they can get—earlier in the day, Mickey’s hand had brushed Ian’s as they’d exchanged books, and there was a moment where all they could do was stare at each other and realize that they hadn’t touched each other, simple, casual touches like this, in ages.

“Can we skip?” Ian had asked, mouth dry. He stared at the slight skin at Mickey’s neck, where the shirt wasn’t buttoned. He thought about a bruise in the shape of Ian’s mouth, right there, right where everybody could see it in that fucking shirt.

Mickey glanced away from him for a second, shifted his books in his hands. “Can’t on the first day,” he replied, looking regretful. He met Ian’s eyes. Definitely, definitely regretful.  

Ian nodded his head and licked his lips, as if he understood, which he really, really didn’t. “God, I wanna kiss you,” he blurted out. He felt his face practically burst it got so red, and Mickey flushed too, because god damn it, they were in the middle of the hallway and this conversation was best somewhere private.

“That was longer than two days,” Ian whispers into Mickey’s neck. He opens his eyes and sees a bruise right where he’d wanted to mark it earlier. Ian noses at it, feeling something like satisfaction flow through him.

“I know.” Mickey’s hand runs through Ian’s hair. “Fuck, Ian, did I fucking know.”

\--

“I’ve been thinking,” Mandy says. They’re walking through a convenience store, trying to pick out food to stuff in Mandy’s bag when they walk into the movies later. Ian didn’t understand Mickey and Mandy’s desire to movie hop until they explained it: at their old home, they were involved in a lot of crime themselves, and while they were glad to be out of the environment, they missed the thrill of doing something like that. They couldn’t do anything major now because getting caught would mean moving, or photographs and records, and they couldn’t afford it. _We’re left to movie hopping_ , Mandy said wistfully. _Oh, Mick, look how far we’ve fallen_.

“Thinking about what?” Mickey asks, picking out a large container of BBQ Pringles. Mandy shakes her head at him, and Ian rolls his eyes: fucking typical.

“I kinda wanna dye my hair blonde,” Mandy tells them.

Ian looks at her in surprise. If he’d made a sound, it probably would have sounded similar to the noise Mickey makes.

“ _Blonde_?” Mickey says, like being blonde was the highest form of blasphemy.

Mandy nodded. “Time for a change, don’t you think?”

“You haven’t gotten a big enough one already?” Mickey asks, gesturing at the store, at Ian.

Mandy looks a little abashed and busies herself in the cooler section for some drinks. Ian elbows Mickey hard, and when Mickey gives him an offended look, says, “ _Mick_ ” in the most disappointed tone he can.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t dye your hair blonde,” Mickey grumbles after they buy their food and are heading to the theater. “Just—are you doing this for you, or for . . . ?”

“It’s for me, Mick,” Mandy says. Her voice is firm and her jaw is set, so Mickey just nods his head and says, “Well, fuck it. As long as you don’t expect the same of me.”

\--

So two days later, they dye Mandy’s hair blonde. The dye gets all over the sink, and Mandy giggles and shivers as Ian’s hands soap her hair. “That water’s fucking cold!” she shrieks, her body making tiny jerking movements like she’s gonna move, but she stays still, letting out tiny yelps when Ian splashes her neck.

Mickey stands in the doorway and laughs at them, and Ian threatens to tie him down and make him blond, too. Mickey just laughs again, and Mandy says, “Damn, Ian, your hands feel good. You should wash my hair every time I shower.”

“Back off,” Mickey snaps, and Mandy laughs.

When Ian walks into the kitchen the next morning and sees her blonde hair, he’s so startled that he drops his mug to the ground. It shatters loudly, causing Mandy to jump and Andrew to sigh and say, “Ian—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he tells them, already bending down to pick up the shards. “It looks great, by the way, Mandy. Your hair.”

She smiles at him, open and warm. Ian feels particularly content.

\--

It doesn’t mean things are suddenly easy. Just because he knows about what happened to them and why they’re here—and _knows_ is a very broad term, because Ian doesn’t actually know very much—doesn’t mean they are suddenly open about things now. They avoid discussions of why they left for all that long while. They answer “When are you leaving again?” with tired, “We don’t _know_ , Ian.” When Ian asks about their other siblings, they become tight-lipped. It’s out of discussion.

Ian knows when he’s done particularly wrong to one of them not by their reactions, but their siblings. When Ian presses Mickey too much, it’s Mandy’s blazed eyes that tell him to back off. When he gets hard on Mandy, Mickey snaps at him to back off. They have a strange back and forth.

Sometimes, when Ian presses them, he knows, inside, that he still hasn’t forgiven them for abandoning him.

Mickey pulls him aside after one such episode, fingers digging into Ian’s jacket, and not the way Ian likes. He leans in close, breath fanning over Ian’s neck, and not the way Ian likes—not soft, laughing, exhaling a kiss to Ian’s skin, but angry, hissing.

“You gotta understand,” Mickey begins. Pauses. “I’m only gonna say this once.”

“Alright.”

“You know what my father is like.”

Ian holds back the “barely” already on his lips and instead says, “Yes.”

“Then you should understand that there is some shit Mandy and I don’t wanna think about. Ever again.”

\--

Ian approaches Andrew one night. It’s late—he’d left Mandy sleeping in her bed, curled towards the wall, and he’d been close to falling asleep until a thought had struck him—and he’s not even sure if Andrew is going to be awake.

He is, reading some book in the corner of the living room. He glances up when Ian comes down. Everything he does is methodical, from the way he takes off his glasses, sets them down on the side table, and slowly closes the book flap into the book to keep a bookmark. Fuck, he even smoothes his hands over the book cover, like he’s brushing away dust.

Ian sees the soldier in everything he does.

“What are you going to do—” Ian breaks off, tries to form his question. Ian comes a bit closer, sits on the arms of one of the couches. Andrew looks at him expectantly. “Mickey is a year older than Mandy,” Ian says.

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do about him going to college?” Ian can’t quite bring himself to look at Andrew. He doesn’t know why.

“Oh, Ian.” Andrew sighs. The leather arm chair he’s sitting in groans when he moves forward. “You have a very good talent of figuring out problems before anybody else recognizes them.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ian didn't mean it as a _goodnight_ , but Andrew stands and leaves anyways.

(Ian never does get a straight answer. And it’s the lack of answer that scares him.)  

\--

Karen is asking Lip about which colors he can wear and what looks best with him.

“I don’t fucking know,” he replies, and Karen whacks him on the arm.

“What’s going on?” Ian asks.

“Trying to figure out prom colors.”

“That’s not for, like, another two months.”

Karen raises an eyebrow. “I have to get a cheap, attractive dress _now_.” She glares at Lip. “No thanks to your brother, because apparently he doesn’t know colors for his fucking life.” She turns back to Ian, grinning devilishly. “So, Ian, have you decided?”

“Decided what?” Ian asks.

“Karen, _don’t_ ,” Lip suddenly says, his voice sharp.

“Don’t what?” Ian jumps in.

“It’s nothing, Ian, just a bit of fun. Just a stupid joke.” Lip glares harder at Karen.

“If it’s such a joke, why shouldn’t he know?” she says innocently. “It is just a bit of fun, no harm meant.”

“Karen—”

“Just fucking tell me,” Ian exclaims, exasperated. “Decided what?”

Karen presses her lips together, lets out a tiny laugh. “Have you decided which Henderson you want to take to prom?”

“What?” Ian says.

“You know. Whether you’re gonna take Emily or Jordan to prom,” she says, reaching for her water.

Ian stares at her. It takes him a moment to realize that his hands are clenched in fists.

“Ian,” Lip says warningly. “Like I said, it’s just a bit of fun.”

And god, Lip had participated in it. “ _Fuck you_ , Lip,” Ian says, low, and leaves them.

\--

Ian doesn’t know how he missed it before, but now that he knows about it, he fucking notices everyone giving them snide looks and making small comments.

Ian’s talking to Mandy and Mickey by their lockers and some girls start to giggle as they pass by them. Ian’s infuriated. God, he’s so fucking infuriated. He doesn’t talk to Lip at all. Fiona pulls them both aside and says, “Guys, whatever you’re going through, I need you to get through it. Right now.”

“Ian’s being petty because some things were said about his boyfriend,” Lip says. “Well, and boyfriend’s sister. And Ian.”

“Again: fuck you, Lip.”

Mostly Ian ignores it. He doesn’t mention it to either Mandy or Mickey, because it’s the last thing they need on their mind.

\--

Only, of course, Mickey finds out.

Some kids are stupid enough to do it in the fucking halls after school, where there are still some kids milling about, talking to each other and grabbing books. Mickey is complaining about the math test he just took and how he thinks he should have studied more when this group of baseball jocks, about three of them, walk by.

“Hey, Gallagher, congrats on the catch! Or, I guess, _catches_.” It’s fucking Josh, the head of them. Ian wants him to shut his fucking mouth.

Ian grits his teeth and ignores them, tries to focus on Mickey. Apparently this is the wrong idea, because the jocks just get annoyed that Ian’s not reacting.

“I’m serious, you must have some magical cock if it makes two of them turn,” Josh says. The other guys behind him chuckle.  

Mickey’s noticing. “The fuck did he just say to you?” Mickey hisses.

“Jordan, it’s nothing, it’s nothing.” Ian hastily grabs his books and slams his locker shut. They need to get the fuck out of there. Ian pushes Mickey’s shoulder so that he moves, and Mickey looks upset but he doesn’t know, not yet, not until they brush past the group and Josh says—to Mickey—oh fuck—he says, “You do know that incest is illegal, right, Henderson? No matter how much of a kink it is to your boyfriend.”

Mickey pauses. Ian almost runs into him, and fuck, this isn’t going to go well. “Mickey,” he hisses, low enough that no one hears the name he uses. “Go. Ignore them.”

Mickey looks like he’s nodding his head, but then he turns around, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder. “What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?” he hisses at Josh.

Josh’s grin is easy—and Ian realizes (with a grim satisfaction) that Josh doesn’t know that Mickey’s about to beat the shit out of him, that only Ian knows what Mickey is actually like—as Mickey approaches him, almost laughing. “Take it easy,” Josh begins, “it’s only a—” and Mickey smashes his fist into Josh’s face.

It happens in such quick succession that Ian almost doesn’t process it, and it’s only his own attunement to fighting (and Mickey’s body) that allows him to follow. After the punch, Josh begins to waver, tip sideways, and Mickey hauls Josh’s body back again to knee him in the stomach. Josh doubles over, clutching his stomach. Mickey grabs him by the hair to punch him in the face again, and he’s fucking finished when Mickey head butts him.

Within fucking two minutes, he’s crumpled on the ground, clutching his head and groaning. Everyone in the fucking hall is staring at Mickey, and no one can believe it, mouths gaping open. Even Ian is a little shocked, as he never actually saw Mickey fight before.

“If I _ever_ fucking hear something like that about me, my sister, or Ian again,” Mickey snarls, and he’s facing Josh but they all know he’s addressing everyone, “I swear to fucking God your ass is gonna find itself in the fucking hospital.” He shakes out his hand, suddenly, flexes it and winces slightly. “Let’s go, Ian,” he says curtly, picking up his bag, and Ian follows, everyone’s eyes on them as they leave.

\--

Ian washes the blood off of Mickey’s hands and doesn’t say anything, just watches him, and realizes that maybe he truly doesn’t know Mickey at all. Not this part of him, the angry, vengeful part that can so easily break a nose.

He finds he doesn’t care.

Mickey winces when Ian dabs antiseptic on his knuckles, and he says, voice tired, “Ian, I’m sorry.”

Ian presses a kiss to Mickey’s knuckle and says, “Don’t be.”

Mickey sighs, chewing on his lip in thought. “They can’t say that shit. I mean, if Mandy heard all that shit about incest—God, I would fucking lose my mind.”

“Shh, Mick. Everything’s going to be fine. It’s just a bunch of dumb, immature, and untrue rumors.”

“It’s _not_ untrue!” Mickey exclaims fiercely. Ian fumbles with the cloth in his hand, and he looks up at Mickey, confused because, okay, what the _fuck_. Mickey sees the look Ian gives him and hisses, voice low, “If those bastards knew what my father did to Mandy, they wouldn’t—they’re making fucking incest jokes, and how do you think Mandy would feel, hearing that? That she—likes that?” Mickey’s voice is rising. “Fuck, Ian, she had to get an abortion. This shit is—if she found out—”

“Then she won’t,” Ian assures him. Ian puts his hand to Mickey’s cheek and gets Mickey to look at Ian, to try and calm him down a little. “You stopped rumors like that today. She’s safe here, you know that.”

Mickey nods and closes his eyes as Ian continues to clean his hand.

\--

The voices around the halls don’t joke about that anymore. Now they only speak of how that Henderson kid is not to be messed with, how he beat up Josh Dornman in five seconds flat and Josh hadn’t even gotten a punch back, and while you’re at it, don’t say shit about his sister or boyfriend either, got it?

“You’ve got a reputation as a badass,” Ian comments one day, noticing a group of freshman watching them with something like caution and awe mixed together.

Mickey sighs. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve always had that.”

Mandy starts laughing.

\--

Ian starts talking to Lip again. Lip accepts the offer immediately, and they begin, somewhat shakily, to return to their former friendship.

Yet Ian still can’t let go of the idea that it was Lip who started the rumor.

\--

Mickey is quiet during the tour Ian gives of his house, but it isn’t until Ian’s showing Mickey his bedroom that Mickey whispers in his ear, “This is the only reason I came to your house today.”

Ian laughs, kicks some clothes Carl left on the floor over by Carl’s bed, and sits down on his own bed. “Oh really?” Ian said. Mickey leans in the doorway, shoulder against the doorframe, and Ian can feel something hot spike up his back when he notices the way Mickey is looking at him. “This could have easily been done at your house.”

Mickey closes the door. Ian’s gut swoops. “Maybe I wanted to try something new for once,” Mickey says, walking to Ian.

“What, fucking while my sister and brother play violent and loud video games downstairs and could potentially hear us?”

Mickey kneels in between Ian’s legs. Ian opens them wider. “They won’t hear us,” Mickey says.

“You’d be fucking surprised,” Ian says. “We’d have to be quiet.” His breath hitches when Mickey starts undoing Ian’s belt. Ian goes to lick his lips but realizes that his mouth is already dry. “Mickey . . .”

Mickey’s fingers are on Ian’s zipper. God, his smirk is so infuriatingly attractive. “Do you want me to stop or not?”

Ian’s mind races, thinks about Carl and Debbie downstairs, then thinks of Mickey’s mouth on his cock and says, “No, don’t—don’t stop.”

Mickey grins and unzips Ian’s jeans, pushes his boxers down to his ankles, and Ian’s already half-hard, but Mickey sucks the head of Ian’s cock into his mouth and Ian gets hard in seconds, breath expelling out of his body. Ian grips the edge of the his bed, fingers tightening in the sheets, and Ian feels hot all over, hot from Mickey’s mouth on him, a blissful, wet heat.

“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian moans, hitching his hips up into Mickey’s mouth, and Mickey pulls off.

“I thought you said we had to be quiet,” Mickey says, and his voice is husky and breathless and his mouth is so fucking red. “You’re gonna have to be quiet, or I’m gonna stop.”

Ian opens his mouth, shuts it, and nods his head. Mickey doesn’t hesitate this time, just runs his tongue up Ian’s cock once before swallowing Ian’s cock down. Ian has to bite his lip to refrain from making a sound and instead reaches for Mickey, slides his hands into Mickey’s hair. _Mickey_ moans—Mickey moans, takes Ian in more, mouth red and wet with spit, and he knows Ian likes it like this, messy and wet. Ian knows Mickey likes _this_ —on his knees, sucking Ian off, because Mickey fucking loves sucking cock. When Mickey starts a slow suck, tongueing Ian’s slit, Ian pulls Mickey’s hair, and Mickey fucking moans at that, grips Ian’s legs tighter and pulls his body closer, legs farther apart.

Ian gets the message loud and clear: fuck his mouth. Ian hitches his hips up, slowly at first, and when Mickey shows fucking signs of impatience, nails digging into Ian’s thighs, Ian goes faster, thrusts up into Mickey’s mouth and watches him take it. Watching his cock fuck into Mickey’s mouth is almost too much, and Ian has to force himself to bite his bottom lip harder to refrain from moaning. He doesn’t quite manage it, and low whine escaping from his throat, but Mickey either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care, because he just slackens his jaw a little more. Ian’s bitten his lip raw, it’s bleeding—he can taste the blood when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

Ian feels his orgasm in the pit of his stomach, and he breaks Mickey’s rule by gasping, “Mickey, I’m gonna come—” and Mickey swallows it down when Ian does.

Ian pushes off the bed after he comes, breathing heavy and mouth bitten raw, and he gets into Mickey’s lap, undoes Mickey’s jeans and pushes his boxers down. There’s not much room for thought, Ian just climbs in Mickey’s lap and rubs their cocks together. Ian’s fingers find Mickey’s hair again, and Mickey gasps when their cocks touch, leans forward and sucks a hickey into Ian’s neck as he thrusts up. He pulls away when Ian moans, and Ian looks at his mouth and can’t fucking breathe. “Mickey, your _mouth_ ,” Ian whispers, dragging his thumb across Mickey’s bottom lip—his mouth is read and swollen and smeared with saliva and come. Mickey laughs, says, “Ian, _yours_ ,” and kisses him. Ian bites at Mickey’s mouth, rocks his hips down and enjoys the slick slide of their cocks together from Mickey’s precome, keeps Mickey’s mouth on his by pulling on his hair, licking at Mickey’s upper lip and biting at his lower one. Mickey comes with a low moan into Ian’s mouth, hands spanning Ian’s thighs. Ian is sure there will be bruises there, and he shivers.

“Fuck,” Mickey says, nosing along Ian’s jaw. “Fuck.” He licks at the sweat by Ian’s hairline.

“That’s disgusting,” Ian says, but doesn’t allow him to pull away, leaning against Mickey with a sigh of content.

\--

It hits Ian, one day, when he’s hanging with Mandy in the library and a couple of girls walk past, that Mandy already _knew_. The girls throw glances at Mandy, and they’re smart enough not to say anything, but by the way Mandy flips them off when their backs are turned, she knows exactly what they were implying.

And Ian does, too.

“You knew,” Ian says when they’re locked in her room, Mandy reading a book with her head pillowed on Ian’s stomach.

“What?”

“You knew what everyone was saying about you. You and Mickey and me.”

Mandy closes the book. “Yeah, I know.”

“Why didn’t—why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Ian asks, incredulous.

“I didn’t want you or Mickey getting into any trouble. I figured acknowledging it would give it some type of validation. It was a stupid rumor anyways, probably said by some dumb jock who can’t understand normal human relationships.” Mandy shrugged. “I could deal with it by myself.”

Ian tugged on a strand of her (blonde) hair. “You didn’t have to go through it alone.”

Mandy snorts. “You and Mickey, I swear. Always thinking you have to protect me.” She leans back against Ian’s stomach. “Maybe remember that half of the time, I’m protecting you two shitheads?”

\--

Ian’s sitting on the floor of Mickey’s room, and Mandy and Mickey are sitting on the bed, each on opposite ends. Mandy is at the top of the bed, and she is reading her textbook by the lamp on the bed next to them. Mickey is smoking a cigarette by the window, and the night air filters in and makes them feel cool, the smoke filtering out, and Ian likes watching Mickey blow the smoke out of his nose. Ian watches Mickey’s chest rise and fall and feels himself calm.

It hits him, how beautiful they both are. Mandy, leaning back against the headboard, her hair golden in the lamplight, her skin flushed slightly from the cold air coming out the window, and her smile and laugh as warm as summer itself. Mickey sits by the window, pensively smoking, and the light doesn’t quite reach him, but god, he’s beautiful too, still a contrast of dark and pale, still rough and smooth at the same time.

Day and night, they are, Ian thinks. The sun and the moon. Beautiful. Always cycling.

Cycling.

Here one day and gone the next.

Ian stares at them, realization dawning upon him, and has never felt so stupid in his entire life.

\--

Andrew actually smiles at Ian when Ian storms in, gestures to Ian like he was expecting Ian’s arrival, but Ian just blurts out, “When are they leaving?”

Andrew’s smile fades. “What?”

“Mickey and Mandy.” Something about Andrew’s entire demeanor, the way he raises his eyebrows and drops the pen he’d been holding, confirms it without words. “I knew it,” Ian breathes. “When? _When_ are they leaving?”

“Ian—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know!”

“Ian, I would advise that you sit down.” Andrew’s voice is commanding, the same one Ian’s ROTC instructors use, so Ian sits down. Sometimes Ian forgets that he doesn’t even know what ranking Andrew is—or that he doesn’t even know Andrew’s real name. “As you know,” Andrew begins, linking his arms on the desk. “Mandy and Mickey went absent for a long time.” Ian nods. “Well, it was believed that they were in danger.”

“Danger?” Ian repeats, stomach dropping.

“By being here,” Andrew says. “My . . . group leader, let’s call him. My group leader informed me that they may not be safe here anymore. Their location, while not specifically our house, was being closed in upon by their father, and they were in very grave danger.”

“But they came back,” Ian says, rather dumbly.

Andrew nods. “Yes, try as I might persuade them—and don’t mistake me, I did—they refused the notion multiple times. They wanted to come back here. We told them again and again that they could not, that they were under our jurisdiction, and their safety was first. They said that since they weren’t in any imminent or present danger, they shouldn’t be moved. We came to compromise: they would stay here for a couple more months, and then we would move.”

Ian can’t breathe, can’t even form a thought. How could they not tell him? This, this especially? Mandy, his best friend, and Mickey—Mickey—how _could_ they—

“When?” he croaks out.

“Five weeks and a day from now,” Andrew says, and he almost looks sorry. No, he is, Ian can see it, the sadness on his face. He actually likes Ian now.

Fives weeks and a day. It’s a Tuesday. Three days after prom.

“Can I . . .” Ian swallows, tries to compose himself. “When they leave. Can I write to them?”

Andrew sighs. “You’re a good person, Ian. A very good person.”

Ian stares at him. He can feel his heart breaking. Andrew just said _no_.

“You can’t tell me that they’re just going to drop off from the world forever.” Ian’s voice is rising, hysteria entering his voice. “They can’t be—they can’t be _gone_ from me. I need them, I—I love them. Sir, you—I can write to them, they, they need to be in contact with me, we can’t be separated—”

“Ian!” Andrew snaps. He looks furious, and Ian doesn’t know why. “Listen to yourself,” Andrew rages. “I will tell you this only: love is the most selfish son of a bitch on this planet. You think your tears will move me? Your grand declarations? Mickey and Mandy are my charge, Ian, my children, and _their safely is above all else_.” Andrew stands suddenly, leaning forward on the desk. “You would rather have them in the danger of their father, have him come back and find them and hurt them, just so they could be with you? Do you really count yourself that worthy of that risk?”

Ian swallowed. “I want them to be happy for once in their fucking life,” he snaps, tilting his chin up.

Andrew sneers, shaking his head. “You foolish boy. You goddamn foolish boy. They will never be happy if they are dead.”

\--

It feels like fucking deja vu, being angry at something Mickey and Mandy didn’t tell him. It feels like heartbreak. It feels like an ache never leaving his stomach, of the words _I wish they’d never come back_ swirling viciously in his head. It feels like guilt for even thinking those thoughts in the first place.

Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel like anything. It’s empty. Ian’s empty.

\--

Mickey and Mandy won’t look at him. When they do, they’re always angry, vicious and attacking. Ian feels something like that too, attached to stubborness. He repeats, “ _You never told me_ ,” like a broken record.

Eventually Mickey snaps, “Get over it, Ian.”

“Get over it?” Ian repeats, and suddenly he can’t take it. “You’re fucking joking, right? Last time you abandon me for fucking weeks with no contact and I’m not sure what the fuck happened to you, and you return without fucking explaining anything and you thought the best course of action was to just fuck off again without telling me? You’d really do that to me _twice_? What kind of fucking asshole does that?”

“We came back for _you_ , you douchebag!” Mandy yells. “They said it would be dangerous and we could be found again, but we came back just to see you again.”

Andrew’s words ring through his head. _Love is the most selfish son of a bitch on this planet_. “Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Ian whispers. Mandy gasps, and her eyes start watering. Mickey just stares at him. “You shouldn’t have,” Ian says, louder, still feeling just as angry. “It doesn’t matter that you came back. That’s not—fuck. If you hadn’t come back, I would have understood why. But this, coming back only to fuck off again without leaving me, knowing that I know everything and that I care this much about you? Mandy, you’re my fucking best friend, and Mickey’s, fuck, you’re my fucking boyfriend, and you thought I would somehow just be fucking dandy if you left again?”

Mandy’s crying. Mickey is staring at him in shock, and Ian realizes it’s because he used the word “boyfriend.” Mickey is shocked by the word boyfriend. Mickey didn’t consider them boyfriends.

Ian watches as Mickey kneels down by Mandy, hugging her tight to his chest. Ian’s chest aches, and he’s breathing heavy, breath in short pants, and he watches them and realizes it’s always been them. Mickey and Mandy. Ian's spot in their lives—it was all an illusion. He never had a spot at all. 

“Don’t leave,” Mandy says when Ian’s at the door. He pauses, hears Mandy sniffle, and then her voice say, “God damn it, don’t fucking leave.”

Ian turns around, leaning against the door. “What am I supposed to do when you guys leave again?” Ian whispers, eyes closed.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. And then, “Come here.”

Ian walks over to where Mickey and Mandy are huddled together and sinks to the floor. He feels like a weight dropping, or maybe an anchor, just sinking, sinking, sinking, dragging, heavy. Mandy catches him, pulls Ian in her arms and cries into his shoulder. Mickey (awkwardly) wraps his arms around them both, head resting lightly on Mandy’s.

And they’re all heartbroken together.

\--

Mandy does that thing again that she usually does when she and Ian sleep together, tracing the bones of Ian’s hand. Mandy and Ian are facing each other on the bed, Mandy’s back against the wall and inches between them. Mickey is pressed along Ian’s back, forehead against Ian’s neck and arms wrapped around Ian’s waist. He fell asleep first.

Mandy’s telling him about some old friends of hers. Not best friends or anything, definitely not close to Ian, but friends nonetheless. Her eyes are still a bit red from crying, but her eyes look so blue that Ian tries to catch them as much as possible.

“I remember,” she says, and then starts laughing quietly, a small whisper-laugh, air exhaled out her nose. “God, my friend had pinkeye and wanted to use my makeup. And I told her, like, ‘ew, no fucking way are you using my makeup.’ I mean, she had _pinkeye_. I wasn’t gonna let her use it, can you imagine?” Mandy starts giggling again. “She didn’t speak to me for like a week. Over makeup. She had fucking pinkeye! I was not sacrificing my expensive, stolen makeup over that girl.”

Ian laughs with Mandy. She flips Ian’s hand over and traces the lines of his palm. Mickey shifts behind Ian, snuffling at Ian’s neck and tightening his hold on Ian’s waist.

Mandy’s laugh fades out and gets replaced by a wistful smile. “Her name was Ashley,” Mandy says quietly, not quite focusing on Ian. “She was the one who convinced me to dye my hair different streaks. She helped me pick out the colors.”

Ian reaches out and touches her hair where it’s fallen over her shoulder. He really likes it blonde. Mandy focuses back on him when he touches her hair, gives him a small smile. “Yeah, it’s a rite of initiation to being my friend,” she tells him, grinning at him.

“Go to prom with me,” Ian says. He didn’t really mean to say that, it had just sort of come out, but he registers the look of shock on Mandy’s face and knows it was the right thing to say.

“What?” Mandy’s eyes widen, flicker down to Mickey’s hand, which is pressed against Ian’s stomach. “Don’t you want to take Mickey?”

“I just asked you, didn’t I?”

“There are still weeks left, Ian. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

Ian grins because that sounded like a yes. “I definitely won’t change my mind,” Ian told her.

“Alright.” Mandy’s grin gets wider. “Alright. Let’s go to prom.”

\--

“We never talked about it, you know,” Ian says, playing with the sheets. Mickey looks up from where he’s buttoning his jeans. A fingerprint on his hip—one that hadn’t been there minutes before—disappears under the fabric.

“Talked about what?” Mickey says. He points at Ian. “Shirt?”

Ian turns around and sees Mickey’s shirt at the corner of the bed. Huh. Ian definitely didn’t remember throwing it back there when he was scrambling to take Mickey’s clothes off earlier. He picks it up and throws it to Mickey. “The boyfriend thing,” Ian says, cautious.

Mickey pulls on the shirt, letting out a slow breath. He sits down on the bed next to Ian, puts his hand on Ian’s ankle and runs his thumb in a slow circle. “Ian, that wasn’t what—that wasn’t what you thought it was,” he says. “I just—” He clenches his jaw and exhales loudly. “I’ve never been somebody’s boyfriend before,” he admits. He doesn’t look at Ian. “So, no, I didn’t consider us boyfriends. I just considered us . . . together.”

Ian closes his hand on Mickey’s. He brings it up to his mouth and just presses Mickey’s there for a second. “Alright,” Ian says, lacing their fingers. “Together.”

\--

Mickey isn’t mad about the whole prom thing because he has “absolutely no interest in dancing, Ian, it’s fucking fine,” and Ian finds he isn’t actually too disappointed.

“Just admit it, though,” Ian teases. “You want to slow dance with me.”

Mickey laughs. “I would want to do much, much more than slow dance with you.”

\--

Andrew calls Ian into his office on another day. They haven’t really spoken much since their last talk, since Ian found out, but they still have a grudging mutual respect for each other.

“Can I help you, sir?” Ian asks. Alright, Ian’s still being a passive-aggressive piece of shit with calling him sir, but Ian thinks that they must be on a pretty good level because Andrew doesn’t look like he wants to punch Ian on a daily basis.

“I just wanted to say that I think you’re a very good kid, a very sharp young man,” Andrew tells him. His voice is serious, almost business-like. “What you’ve done for Mickey and Mandy . . .” He stops, clears his throat. “It’s not just that, though. I’ve been tracking your performance since I found out you were in ROTC. Your reports are . . . very high, with many high praises from your higher officers.” Ian feels something close to pride stick up in throat.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s to my understanding that you want to get into West Point.” Ian nods, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, Ian,” Andrew says. “I know the day applications are due for West Point—I was a graduate from there, you know—and so around application time, next year, you may receive a recommendation letter from me.”

Ian raises his eyebrows. He knows Andrew’s ranking must be very high, and that kind of praise—a fucking recommendation letter—would basically be everything Ian needs to get in. It’s like handing Ian his future, already, and for doing basically nothing.

No. Andrew is not a compassionate person, he wouldn’t just actively help Ian out of the kindness of his heart.

“No,” Ian says. Andrew furrows his eyebrows. “ _No_ ,” Ian repeats, louder. “I don’t want some recommendation letter because you feel obligated to give me something because Mandy and Mickey are leaving. I don’t want your pity.” Andrew opens his mouth to argue back, and maybe it’s rude of Ian, but he says quickly, “I never did any of this because I wanted some higher power to get me into West Point. I did all that shit—I’m _doing_ it—because I love them. End of story. I don’t need compensation for that.”

Andrew, to his surprise, smiles at that. He nods his head, looking very pleased. “You surprise me endlessly, Ian. Like I said, you are a very good kid.” He sighed. “I was wrong about you, at first. When we first came here, I strictly forbid Mandy and Mickey from making any friends. I wasn’t going to risk any emotional attachments, nor any dramatic Romeo and Juliet type romances. Strictly forbidden. And then Mandy and Mickey brought you home and _kept_ bringing you home. I was very displeased, as I’m sure you knew.” When Ian nods his head emphatically, he laughs. “The next thing I knew, you and Mandy are best friends and I can see Mickey falling for you right in front of me and I thought, _god help me_.” Andrew laughs. “You know, Ian, I do consider myself, after these last couple of years, a father of Mickey and Mandy. I’ve grown very fond of you, too.”

Ian smiles, reaches his hand forward. Andrew looks surprised, before reaching his hand out and shaking Ian’s. His grip is firm, steady, his hands calloused, exactly like Ian expected an army man to be, but also warm and comforting and maybe, maybe like a friend. Like a father’s (could have been).

\--

Mandy has already decided that red, pink, yellows, and oranges are not her color and they will not be allowed.

“So, anything dark,” Ian says, looking at the rows and rows of prom dresses.

“You know me so well,” Mandy replies, tightening her grip on Ian’s arm. “Get searching, Boy Scout.” They flip through racks of dresses, and Mandy gives him a pointed look when he returns with some. “Ian, you do know that prom has to be formal, right?”

“Okay . . .”

“Meaning long dresses.”

“Ah. I’ll go put these back.”

Eventually they have a pile of dresses for Mandy to try on. They grab the biggest fitting room with the longest mirror, and Ian waits outside because Mandy likes surprising him. “First impressions on dresses tell you everything,” Mandy says. “Why do you think brides always surprise their family when they walk out in those dresses?”

The first couple aren’t favorable. Mandy’s price range is pretty average, so they have a good variety of dresses to choose from, and Mandy says that they can’t settle. She figures out what types of dresses she does and doesn’t like, messing with her hair while she looks at herself in the mirror. Ian gives his honest comments on dresses—sometimes just a thumbs up or down, and sometimes actual discussions on whether she _loves_ the dress or if the length is okay—and he knows Mandy will just groan “Iaaaaaaaaan” if he tells her she looks beautiful in all of them, but she really, really does.

She finds a dark blue one, strapless and heart-shaped, flaring out at the waist a little. When she twirls, the bottom of her dress almost looks like flower petals, always just a little behind her as she spins. It goes well with her hair, and it makes her eyes seem bluer than usual. God, Mandy is so beautiful. She smoothes down the sides of the dress, a little hesitantly, and Ian knows that this dress is the one.

And then Mandy starts crying.

“Mandy?” Ian asks. He’s so uncertain, her tears are so sudden, and she’s just crying into her hands, head bent. Ian moves forward, touches his hand to her back. “What’s wrong?”

“When does it end, Ian?” she sobs. “Fuck, when will it end?”

“Mandy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mandy pulls her head up and gestures at the mirror roughly. “Look at that! Look at that dress! I’m not—I’m fucking Emily Henderson. What am I gonna do about college, Ian? Apply as Emily Henderson? Live my life in college as Emily for the rest of my life? What am I gonna do when I meet someone? I’ll be lying to them the entire time, they’ll think they’re dating Emily, and then if I marry them, I’ll be Emily whatever _their_ last name is, but I’m not Emily, Ian! I’m Mandy!” Mandy runs her hands through her hair, bites her lip. She looks absolutely distraught. “I’m Mandy fucking Milkovich,” she says.

Ian moves his hands to her shoulders, turns her around so that she’s facing him. “Hey, I get it,” he says. Mandy looks away from him, but Ian just grips her shoulders a little harder. “No, I do. I hate that you have to live like this. But your dad is not immortal, Mandy. He’s going to die eventually. And then you can return to Mandy.”

Mandy’s shoulders fall forward, head bowed again. “And how long will that be?”

“I don’t know,” Ian admits. “Okay? I don’t know. But I do know this.”

Mandy sniffles, wipes at her eyes with the back of her hands. “What?” she asks weakly.

“I didn’t ask Emily Henderson to prom. I asked Mandy fucking Milkovich to prom,” Ian tells her. Mandy smiles at him and wipes at her eyes one more time, taking a deep breath. “Is this the dress?” Ian asks.

Mandy nods, smiling. “Yeah, it’s the dress.”

\--

Mickey texts Ian: _come over? house is empty_

Ian rereads the text again to make sure that’s what the thought it said. _house EMPTY?_ he texts back. _how??????_

 _mands and drew are out_ , Mickey says.

Mandy and Andrew are gone? Ian thinks. That’s fucking strange, but he shouldn’t be taking the opportunity for granted. An empty house, he thinks, grinning. He would bet his fucking life they’re gonna have sex. 

\--

Ian’s right, of course, that an empty house leads to sex. He and Mickey had pretended to do other things for a while, watching some TV and talking, but eventually Ian had just crawled into Mickey’s lap and kissed him, and Mickey had to drag him up to the bedroom.

Empty houses are really nice, Ian realizes, like _really_ fucking nice. Empty houses are not worrying about embarrassment or being too loud or having to go anywhere anytime soon.

And Ian realizes, after Mickey has Ian pinned down and is riding him, what the real reason for the empty house was.

“Fuck, fuck, Mickey,” Ian says (and really that could be a response to Mickey slowly sinking down on his cock—or the way Mickey’s head is tipped back, his throat long and smooth and inviting—or the flush on his chest and thighs—or the way Mickey’s cock moves as he rides Ian, hard and bobbing and leaking precome—) “This was supposed to be a date, wasn’t it?”

Mickey stops his movements, settled in fully on Ian’s cock, and he raises an eyebrow. “I’m riding you,” he says, breathless and husky, “and _that’s_ what you’re fucking thinking about?”

“I was thinking,” Ian says as he reaches for Mickey’s cock, “about a lot of other things,” and he manages to stroke Mickey twice before Mickey takes his wrists and pins it above his heads. Ian can feel his entire body heat up, tries not to show his shortened breath, but Mickey knows that Ian likes this by now, and there’s really no point.  

“You sure?” Mickey asks. He presses down on Ian’s wrists a little more, and Ian gets the message: don’t move them. Mickey pulls back, rotates his hips slowly, and Ian has to clench his teeth. Fuck, fuck. Mickey raises himself, just so that only the head of Ian’s cock is in his ass. “For the record,” Mickey says, sinking back down on Ian’s cock, “yeah, this was supposed to be a date.”

\--

“So, you’re taking Mandy to prom?” Lip asks.

Ian glares at him. “I swear to god if you make a joke . . .”

Lip raises his hands. “I’m not, I’m not. I was just going to say, because, well. Karen and I are going together. We could all go as one big group, save some money on transportation. Karen has a car.”

Ian gives Lip an appreciating look. “Yeah, alright. Let’s do that.”

\--

The worst thing about prom is that Ian’s excited for it and dreading it at the same time. Everyone in school is buzzing about it, discussions of dresses and colors and prices going around like it’s some kind of disease, and Ian is excited for it. He’s excited for the dancing and food and the memory of the night with Mandy.

But he knows that three days after prom, Mickey and Mandy are leaving.

Ian wishes the days would drag the time until it all just stopped, and he’d never have to witness the moment where they leave.

\--

“Alright, this is the real question,” Mandy says. She holds up two movies. “Shawshank or Godfather?”

Ian says, “Shawshank” right as Mickey says, “Godfather.”

They argue about it for fifteen minutes until Andrew comes down the stairs and tells them to lower their voices. Mandy gets tired of the arguments and puts in Jurassic Park in the middle of their argument. Ian and Mickey look at each other, shrug, and then settle back against the couch.

Mandy grabs their popcorn from the microwave and settles back in between them, head in Ian’s lap and feet in Mickey’s.

“I’m your fucking brother, why do I get the feet?” Mickey grumbles.

Mandy just kicks him in the stomach.

\--

Prom is a strange ceremony for them. There’s no pictures, because they can’t take pictures of Mandy, and especially not with anyone else in the photo. Ian isn’t shocked by her coming down the stairs, because he bought the dress with her. He puts on the corsage and Andrew stands to the side, arms crossed, while Mickey leans against the doorway.

“I still think we should have gotten the government to pay for all of it,” Mickey says, and everyone is shocked when Andrew busts up laughing.

They wait around awhile for Karen and Lip to arrive. Ian assumes they actually went through the whole pictures process with Karen’s mom—more so than Fiona’s quick photos of Ian and Lip with her phone—and talked to the Jackson family, so Ian and Mickey and Mandy sit around the kitchen. Mandy goes to the bathroom “just before we go, really quick,” and Mickey walks over to Ian and kisses him hard on the mouth.

“You look, uh,” Mickey stutters, cheeks red, and Ian laughs and pulls Mickey’s mouth back to his.

\--

Ian watches as Lip and Karen smile at the camera for their pictures after they’d been admitted into the dance, Karen’s smile sly and Lip’s normal. Mandy giggles at first when she and Ian pose, but eventually they get it together and manage to get in a couple of pictures.

Karen, Lip, Mandy, and Ian all find a table when they first walk in. Karen drops her clutch on her seat and immediately grabs Lip’s hand to drag him to the floor—they arrived an hour into the event—and Ian sits down after Mandy does.

“At what part during the night do I take off these heels?” Mandy shouts over the loud music. Ian offers to trade shoes, and she laughs and tells him to keep that promise for later. She watches all the other teenagers dancing, scanning the decorations and the other tables and the DJ. She leans in towards Ian’s ear. “Look at all of them,” she exclaims. “They all think this is so important, you know? Like, fuck, my dad could walk through those doors right now. You think about that? Apparently, no matter where I’m at in this town, I’m always in danger. And these kids, they just . . . experience it, this life.”  

“Hey!” Ian takes her hand and makes her look at him. “We’re not thinking about that tonight, we’re having fun!” Mandy smiles, nodding, and lets Ian lead her to the dance floor.

They dance near the center of the dance floor, where it’s hot and loud. Everyone crowds around them, and while they don’t grind or anything, they have to dance relatively close. They don’t really mind, laughing in each other’s faces and leaning in right next to each other’s ears just to shout in them. Mandy’s bun becomes messier and messier as she dances, but she looks loose and free, the flashing lights running over her in greens and blues and reds. “Formal dance, huh?” Ian shouts in her ear, and she laughs and punches Ian on the arm.

They dance with Karen and Lip at one point, Karen grabbing Ian by his tie and jokingly dancing around him sexually, and by the end of it, they’re all laughing so hard that they have to leave the dance floor. They collapse in their chairs, sweating, and Lip offers to go get drinks. When he comes back, Karen slips a tiny bottle of vodka out of her purse—how she snuck it in, Ian has no fucking idea—and tips a little into their drinks. It’s definitely not enough to get them drunk, but Ian likes the bitter twist of the alcohol with the overly sweet punch, and Mandy declares that they all go get some food.

The food is pretty good all things considering, and Lip and Karen go off to dance again. Mandy and Ian don’t slow dance until after they announce the prom king and queen. It’s some couple in the senior class that Ian doesn’t know very well, but he and Mandy clap respectfully as they accept the crowns. When they start the slow dance for that prom king and queen, Ian stands and holds out his hand to Mandy. “May I have this dance?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes and takes his hand.

Ian is comfortable holding Mandy close to him, and they sway slightly, her fingers just playing with the ends of his hair. “If you’d asked me three years ago,” she says, “that I would be slow dancing at a prom with my best friend, I would have laughed in your fucking face.”

“If you told me three years ago that I’d be going to a dance with a _girl_ , I would have laughed in your face,” Ian tells her. Mandy laughs so hard she throws her head back. She took her hair out at the table, and it slips over her shoulders in a smooth wave.

Ian manages to drag Mandy over to the photo booth and convince her to take some. She allowed the pictures in the beginning because they were required, but these she’s nervous about. Ian tells her that he’ll keep them to himself, and Mandy smiles at him and agrees. They end up going back to the booth a couple more times.

It’s so fun, and Ian feels like the night drags on, that every minute is spent doing something and no time is wasted.

(A part of Ian wishes Mickey was here).

Around 12:00, kids start filtering out, and Lip comes over and tells him that there’s a party at Joaquin’s house for anyone here. Ian bites his lip, considering, and Mandy elbows him in the side and says, “Just go to him, I’ll be fine.”

Ian doesn’t even bother questioning how she knows. “You’ll be okay?”

Karen grins at him, grabbing Mandy’s arm and pulling her close. “Mandy and I are about to become very close friends. I’ll take care of her.”

“More like Mandy will take care of you,” Ian says, kissing the top of Mandy’s head and dodging her swats at him. He waits until Karen, Lip, and Mandy get in the car before walking hurriedly towards the neighborhood.

\--

When Mickey opens the door, he freezes at the sight of Ian.

“You guys back already?” he asks.

“I am,” Ian replies. Mickey just continues to look confused, and Ian says, “Will you let me in? My ass is freezing out here.” Mickey opens the door, closing and locking it behind Ian, and Ian takes off his shoes and shoves them by the door. “Mandy’s at a party with Karen and Lip,” Ian explains when Mickey asks him where Mandy is.

“And why are you here?”

Ian smiles. “Because I owe you a slow dance.”

\--

And it’s slow. Fuck, is it slow.

Mickey looks hesitant at first, but Ian just opens his arms, and suddenly it’s easy. Mickey steps into them, whispers, “Hey,” and Ian leans forward to catch his lips once. Mickey exhales shakily when they pull apart, and then reaches a hand up and touches Ian’s cheek, fingertips light and ticklish, but Ian keeps still. Ian and Mickey are so close, only bare inches between them, and Ian feels it like a magnetic pull. Mickey’s thumb brushes against Ian’s lip, but Ian doesn’t do anything, just keeps holding Mickey’s eyes. Ian’s not sure what they’re communicating—if they’re communicating anything at all—but Ian looks in Mickey’s eyes and loses his breath and he can’t look away.

Mickey tilts his head up again, using his hand to cradle Ian’s jaw, and the pressure of his lips is so soft, gentle, that Ian feels like they’re not really kissing. And that’s how they kiss, slow and almost uncertain, until eventually they’re pressed together but still kissing and kissing. Ian rests his hands on Mickey’s shoulders, his neck, his waist—Ian’s hands are always moving, gliding up and down Mickey’s body gently, and Mickey shivers under his touch, presses closer. Mickey pulls away for a second, rests his forehead against Ian’s, and breathes against Ian’s mouth, runs his thumb back and forth across Ian’s jaw.

So this is their slow dance. Swaying slightly while they kiss, hands gentle and loving, kisses slight and slow and still just as wet and as hot as other times, but slowed down, magnified.

At some point, Mickey reaches down and undoes the buttons on Ian’s jacket. He pushes it off Ian’s shoulders, and Ian can hear it lightly thumb onto the floor. Mickey huffs against Ian’s jaw, says, “Goddamn three piece suits,” and begins to undo Ian’s waistcoat. Ian watches until he can’t stand it, takes Mickey’s chin and tilts him up for another kiss, sweet and slow so that Mickey sighs into Ian’s mouth, relaxing against Ian’s body for a second. Mickey’s fingers fumble on the buttons until it’s off, also taken off Ian’s body, and then fumbles even more with the tie. Ian reaches up then to help Mickey take it off, and their fingers brush together. “I fucking hate buttons,” Mickey mutters on the last shirt, but he does wonderfully, unbuttoning them all as Ian kisses him through it.

When Ian’s shirtless, Mickey pauses, eyes starting from Ian’s waist and traveling up Ian’s body. There’s a joke to be made here, about Ian’s eyes being up higher, but something about the moment is almost reverent. And Ian realizes: Mickey is trying to take it all in, Mickey is trying to commit it to memory. It makes Ian want to snap _don’t do that, don’t treat this like a goodbye_ , but he realizes this is something that Mickey—maybe both of them—need, so he let’s Mickey’s hand lightly touch his collarbone. Ian closes his eyes at the contact.

“Did I ever tell you how many freckles you got?” Mickey whispers, eyes flickering up to Ian’s for a moment. Ian can’t help it—the moment is so ridiculous, so beautiful—so he leans in and kisses Mickey, mouth slanted and missing it’s mark fully and mostly kissing his upper lip, but it makes Mickey slide his hand up over Ian’s shoulder, the other coming to wrap around his waist, and Mickey’s skin is hot on Ian’s.

And it begins again, that slow kissing, Ian stumbling against Mickey a little in a tiny bit of renewed anticipation, and he sighs when Mickey moves to mouth at his jaw, turns his head to allow Mickey better access.

“Mickey,” Ian whispers. Thoughts are jumbling around in his head and it’s hard to fully form any full thought. “Mick, what do you want?”

Mickey presses a kiss to the line of Ian’s jaw, kisses Ian’s cheek and his mouth and his chin. “I want you to go slow,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to Ian’s mouth. “I want this to last forever.”

\--

At some point in the night, when they’ve been in the bed for hours now and the only space left between them is none at all, Mickey whispers, “Sometimes I think you’re the only person I’m ever gonna love.”

Ian exhales shakily, slides his nose along Mickey’s. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too. I never got to say it before. You just wrote it in that note. But god, Mickey, I love you.”

Mickey closes his eyes again, and Ian wipes away an escaping tears with his thumb. 

\--

Mandy comes home at ten in the morning, dropped off by Lip and Karen, and immediately picks up some pancakes that Andrew made. Ian, Mickey, and Andrew watch her gulp down an entire glass of orange juice.

“Sorry,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She points at Ian and Mickey. “After I eat, I’m gonna take a shower, and then we’re all going movie hopping, okay?”

Andrew sighs. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Mickey laughs. “Two days, Andrew. I think you can live with a little crime in your house.”

Andrew smiles. “Well, fuck it,” he says, and Mickey is so startled he drops his fork on the plate. “Don’t stop there.”

\--

This time, they enter the movie theater with food from the convenience store that wasn’t paid for.

\--

Ian calls Fiona and tells her he’ll be skipping school on Monday. “Oh, and I’m staying the next two nights at the Hendersons,” he tells her.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” she asks.

“No, you really don’t.”

\--

Sometimes it’s easy. They can sit around marathoning a TV show or cooking a meal in the kitchen for the three of them and it’s just as it was before, everything is normal and there’s no pressure. And other times it’s sudden, that they’re leaving so soon and everything is closing in on them and there’s no time left. One time Mandy suddenly snaps, in the middle of watching TV, “What the fuck are we sitting inside for?” So they all get up and walk around the neighborhood, over and over again.

Mandy pulls them all into a bowling alley at eleven at night, when the alley is hosting cosmic bowling. The flashing disco lights and loud music remind Ian of prom, and already Ian feels wistful about it even though prom was only a day ago, really.

It isn’t a good feeling.

Mandy kicks their asses in bowling. “I don’t know how she’s doing it,” Mickey says disbelievingly when she gets her third spare in a row. “She has literally never played before in her life.”

“It’s a natural talent,” Mandy says, grinning, and she nudged Ian with her food. “Your turn.”

That night they fall asleep tangled up again. They drag both Mandy and Mickey’s mattress down and set it in the living room, piling it with blankets and pillows and eventually themselves, Mandy squished in the middle of them. Ian has no idea whose feet are whose anymore, but he knows that he’s pressed along Mandy and Mickey’s hand is circled around his wrist, and they don’t fall asleep until 3 in the morning.

\--

All their stuff is packed away, and the fridge is mostly empty, so they grab all of the money they can and go out to eat.

Ian ventures out once, says, “You guys don’t know where you’re going?”

Mandy shakes her head, Mickey shrugs. Ian sighs, disappointed, and continues to eat his hash browns.

They go to Ian’s house because it’s empty and Ian actually has food. Every kid is at school, Fiona’s at work, and Liam’s with Fiona, so they sit on the couch and talk. Ian goes upstairs and gets them the gifts he’d gotten them.

For Mandy, he gives her the prom photos. “I talked to the photographer that night,” Ian says as Mandy stares down at the photos in her hand. “Asked for him to get it early, and he sent these in.” It had cost money, and Fiona had texted Ian earlier to let him know that they’d come in. He gave her some of the funny ones they’d taken in the photo booth, and then the formal ones taken at the entrance. “I just thought, you know, you might like to have them as well.”

Mandy starts crying again, rushing over and hugging Ian tightly. They cling to each other until Mandy pulls away, wiping her eyes, and says, “Fuck, I feel like I’ve cried more in these past couple of weeks than I ever have in my life.”

For Mickey, Ian gives him one of his old ROTC pins—it’s gold and a little rusty, but GALLAGHER is deeply engraved into the metal. Mickey stares at it for a while, overturning it in his hands. He doesn’t look at Ian the entire time, and it makes Ian worried, until Mickey looks up at him, smiling. He stands and kisses Ian once, pulling away quickly, but Ian knows that Mickey is choked up and needs a little space. They both do.

Ian gives it to them.

\--

When they return back to Mickey and Mandy’s house, Andrew is waiting for them with some dinner—it’s nice, and Ian knows just by looking at the contents that he got some of Mickey and Mandy’s favorites.

There isn’t any heartbreak between them and Andrew, and Ian realizes this is because they’re not going to be separated. He’s still staying with them. Ian feels relieved by the idea, because he knows Andrew loves Mickey and Mandy fiercely.

The only comment Andrew makes before going upstairs to sleep is, “Don’t stay up too late, kids,” like he believes this is a sleepover.

Ian, Mickey, and Mandy reply back with “Yes” and “Of course” like they believe it’s a sleepover too.

Like any sleepover, they stay up into the late morning talking.

\--

Ian has a hard time the next morning. He almost vomits three times, and Mickey and Mandy both look like they’re gonna break down at some point, and even Andrew looks somber, walking around the (empty) house and slowly getting a more wistful expression as he walks around. His back is straight, and when his shirt pulls, Ian can see the gun tucked into his waistband.

It’s already begun.

\--

Somehow the actual leaving part doesn’t even feel real. There’s no huge moving truck somewhere, there’s no actual tears, there isn’t some big cavernous opening or whatever. That was for a couple hours ago. All that happens is Andrew comes into Mickey’s room, where they’re all hanging out in, and says, “It’s time.”

 _It’s time._ Who the fuck says that for such a big moment? Ian thinks. Only people about to infiltrate some high secret place say _it’s time_. Bullshit people say _it’s time_.

All Mickey and Mandy have is some essentials in a backpack. Andrew takes these from them and let’s everyone say their goodbyes out on the porch.

Mandy and Mickey are facing him, not speaking, and maybe Ian lied about the big cavernous opening part. Fuck, fuck.

Mandy lunges forward first, hugs him so tightly Ian’s sure he’s gonna lose circulation.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she says, pulling away. Her hands stay on Ian’s neck, and she smiles up at him. “You’re my best friend, you know? You always will be.”

“Yeah.” Ian finds he can hardly breathe. He pulls her bag into a hug, presses his face into her hair, smells the familiar scent of her shampoo, and promises himself he’s  not gonna cry. “I love you,” he whispers in her hair. “I’m really going to miss you. I love you, Mandy.”

“Oh, Ian,” she says. Her voice is raspy from trying not to cry. “I love you too.” Ian presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she kisses his cheek before heading to the car, putting her hand on Mickey’s shoulder for a second as she goes by.

Mickey and Ian stare at each other for a heartbeat before Ian clears his throat. “So . . .”

Mickey laughs, steps closer until they’re toe to toe. He lightly fists his fingers into Ian’s shirt. “Ian,” he says. Just his name at first, and then, “Don’t get into any trouble.”

Ian could laugh, but everything is serious right now. “I won’t,” he promises.

Mickey raises his eyebrows. “I’m serious. No fooling around.”

“Not at all? Because there’s this guy that’s been texting me and I’ve been thinking of hitting him up and—” Ian is cut off when Mickey kisses him, hard and messy, gripping onto Ian so that Ian doesn’t move away.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mickey says when they pull away. “Your boyfriend is a very jealous person.”

“Boyfriend?” Ian repeats.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Mickey’s mouth. “I don’t care where I am or where you are, I’m yours,” Mickey says. Ian’s stomach swoops. He leans forward to kiss Mickey, but Mickey stops Ian with a hand on his chest. “And you’re mine,” Mickey continues, “so I swear to god I will kick your ass if you do anything with someone else.”

“You done yet?”

“I think so.”

“Perfect.” Ian leans forward to kiss Mickey again, open mouthed and hot and messy and for one, blissful moment, it’s just them.

Then Mickey pulls away and whispers, “Ian, I have to go.” Mickey’s finger unclenches from Ian’s shirt and he detaches from Ian’s body and he’s out of Ian’s space. In the car door. Ian nods at Mickey and Mandy when they wave to him, and Andrew starts the ignition.

Yeah, Ian was lying. Cue the biggest fucking cavernous opening ever found in the fucking world, right here in Ian Gallagher’s heart.

Andrew looks one last time at Ian. Ian salutes just for the fucking hell of it, and he can see Mandy and Mickey laughing. Andrew salutes back, and then the car is driving off.

Ian sits down on the porch and doesn’t move until nightfall.

\--

“Ian!” Fiona calls from downstairs. “There are letters for you!”

Ian bolts off his bed so fast that he nearly falls on the floor, but he manages to maintain his balance. He can hear Carl sniggering behind him, but Ian races down the stairs to the kitchen.

Fiona points to the letters, which are laying at the kitchen table, and Ian has gotten more papercuts opening their letters than any schoolwork.

The first letter is from Emily Henderson, even though technically, that’s not her name anymore. _I’m Abigail Simmons now_ , Mandy had written. But that was the point of using Emily’s name—she doesn’t exist, she can’t be traced, and these letters go to a P.O. box in Maine under her name. The same with Mickey.

In this letter, Mandy gushes about the end of junior year. _I’m so excited for senior year I can hardly wait_ , she writes. _It’s hard settling here, but at least we’re settling somewhere. I can tell Andrew likes it here_. She talks more about the classes she’d finally chosen and how she is studying for finals like crazy because she does want to go to college and she needs the grades for it. The rest of the letter is devoted to Svetlana—some girl in Mandy’s class that she had quickly become interested in. Mandy tells him how Svetlana and her had finally kissed and are now going on dates and the pages are fucking loaded, back and front, with as many details about their relationship. Mandy concludes it by saying there must be some way the four of them could meet in the summer, and she would work it out with Andrew like she worked out the communication via letters. She misses Ian. She loves Ian. Ian needs to learn how to write back to her quicker or she’ll stab him with her pen.

The second letter is from Jordan Henderson, but he’s Matthew Simmons now. Mickey, as always, sends a very short note that still manages to say a lot. This time, all he sends is a college acceptance letter from Mercy College in New York, with a small post-it note on one side. Scribbled on the post-it note is: _I got accepted. at least 25 miles from West Point_.

Ian grins and begins writing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr!](http://montygreening.tumblr.com/) come talk to me :)) 
> 
> edit: many people have asked me what happens after ch. 2, so go to my blog and add /post/117812072186/so-ians-totally-getting-into-west-point-with :)

**Author's Note:**

> title in reference to The Little Things Give You Away by Lincoln Park


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